


Omnes Una Manet Nox - The Same Night Awaits Us All

by fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn



Series: Strangers In A Strange Land [2]
Category: Legacy of Kain, Role-Playing Games
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kain has many questions--and an elder Raziel must decide how many answers he is willing to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of explanation: these stories were originally written for a long-running crossover RPG called Multiverse Haven (now sadly defunct). The basic premise of the game was that characters had been pulled from multiple worlds and marked as Chosen, in order to eventually restore a dying multiverse. Because of this, there may be occasional references to characters from other novels/anime/games, along with a little vampire terminology borrowed from WoD and the Dark Jewels novels. The main focus is on Kain and Raziel and their eventual return to Nosgoth, however, and will eventually weave in and around LoK canon as an entirely separate storyline.
> 
> As a Chosen, Raziel has been plucked from the Reaver and his original vampiric form restored to him--only to be trapped within this strange world called 'Haven', and left subject to the whims of mysterious 'Powers'. Needless to say, this does not go over well ... and now, it seems, the 'Powers' have decided that they require Kain as well ....

As disturbing as this place was, it offered opportunity for exploration, reading, and most importantly a very great deal of feeding. The hunting in 'Haven' was ridiculously good, even if the blood of placeholders was thin and bitter. Kain had just come from a time when undefended peasants or single guardsmen were few and far between, and easy meals correspondingly rare.

At least Kain no longer suffered from the constant clenching need that had consumed his first few months as a vampire -- back then, he'd needed to feed upon several humans daily, or more if he fought and took injury. In Haven, over the past weeks, he'd taken that number and more, killing with pleasant and refreshing abandon, free of the concern of Sarafan interference.

He'd certainly needed the extra nourishment, after... meeting Gaara. And Skandranon. And, well, nearly every other Chosen so far.

Now he hunted more elusive prey, stalking the streets and alleys north of the place he'd arrived. Skin flushed faintly pink, body warm and limber with deep and recent feeding, Kain began to think that the force he'd felt around Raziel must surely have been a product of Kain's exhaustion upon his arrival, as much as a sign of the other vampire's inherent puissance.

Surely there was nothing in the world so palpably potent. The... strange elder vampires he'd fought had been taloned and armored and very swift indeed, but their auras had not been overwhelming. Surely Raziel could be no more powerful than they.

Raziel, for his part, had been keeping his distance from the disturbing puzzle this younger Kain presented. Which was not to say that he had ignored the other vampire's existence entirely; he was not so foolish. But he had stayed far enough away not to be spotted or sensed, watching Kain with eyes that had evolved along with his wings to be as keen as a raptor's. He had not seen Kain's encounter with Gaara, having been distracted by his own need to hunt, but he had seen his sire's other encounters with the various monsters that lurked in the shadows of Haven, including the Dumahim. Raziel doubted this younger Kain recognized what they were any more than he did Raziel. Even the Dumah of Raziel's memory would have been hard-pressed to do so, in all honesty.

Now it seemed Kain had turned his attentions to hunting down Raziel. His progress had been meandering and slow, but he was slowly making his way closer to the area Raziel had claimed as his own, and closer to his own perch. Raziel found himself disposed to allow it—so once Kain had come close enough, he moved out of the shadows, making himself clearly visible on the edge of a rooftop.

At the end of yet another indeterminable city block, the street opened into a wide plaza, chill in the cloudless night, every stone and edge gilded silver with hoarfrost. And then, like a black sun rising, Raziel's aura once again washed over Kain, cool and nearly tangible. Oh. Had he thought Raziel akin in strength to the bestial vampires? Nevermind, then. Whatever the others had been... it was clear that Raziel was not of their kind.

Not entirely, in any case.

Kain stalked to the center of the plaza, frost crunching underfoot. He reached back to the hilt of the Reaver. Just for an hour, he told the blade silently, dismissing it to an extradimensional pocket. The serpentine blade crackled a little as it let itself be contained, but thankfully did not respond with the ire it had unleashed previously. He retrieved another blade while the dimensional portal remained open. Of all his weapons, Kain was most familiar with this one -- the Serioli-forged blade that had been driven through his back almost a decade ago, when he yet lived. He flicked the weapon a little, getting used to the weight once more, as he scanned the rooftops and the sky, seeking a humanoid silhouette.

Raziel felt the prickle of the Reaver's energies as it was drawn—and for a moment, he wondered if Kain intended to attack him with it. Then the aura was gone, dismissed in favor of a lesser blade, it seemed. Raziel sighed a little in relief, tension easing.

He waited until he was sure Kain had spotted him, then stood upwards, knowing the moon revealed him clearly. He supposed he could have come down to street level once more—but even a fledgling Kain should be able to join him easily where he was, and he did not care to play with shadow-monsters tonight.

"Kain," he said in greeting, letting the sound echo down into the empty streets.

Kain nearly passed over the low form of Raziel's crouched body in the moonlight, but then Raziel stood, loosing a plume of fine frost from where it had settled on the other vampire's skin and armor. It glittered in the air like silver dust, before being caught up by the frigid breeze. Sound echoed strangely in the empty roadways, off the ice and outlandish artificial stone.

"Raziel," Kain said, struggling to maintain a neutral tone. The surrounding rooftops were of varied height, and steeply sloped. He focused on the highest one, a few buildings away from Raziel's chosen perch. The top of the structure was clustered with... not chimneys, certainly, but perhaps pipes and something like large curved shields, set on their edges. In any case it was distinctive enough, Kain hoped, for his batform to locate. He'd not tried shifting to this form in this mad world yet, but.... Carefully, Kain fixed the sight and 'feel' of the rooftop in his mind, and then let his body disintegrate.

Hundreds of small, furred forms took wing from his flesh, his senses fragmenting, the whole world suddenly formed of sound and echoes, wind and wings. The simple act of finding the tall rooftop was a challenge; high-pitched cries echoed harshly from metal and glassy ice, and the cold breeze spread the bats out as they circled the plaza, winging wide around Raziel, whose aura made for further confusion.

The bats peppered the rooftop in a wide cloud, rather than a clustered stream. Reforming was always a painful process; now made inelegant too as Kain half-slipped on the frost-coated shale tiles. A quick flick of his blade buried it between the tiles, anchoring him as he tucked and folded wingtips back into his body.

Watching Kain dissolve into a cloud of bats wasn't a surprise—but the haphazard and rather inelegant method of his landing was. Raziel was hard-pressed to keep his amusement from showing as he watched Kain laboriously reform and attempt to keep his feet on the treacherous rooftop. Perhaps he should have gone down to the street after all ....

He was not about to shout across the intervening distance in order to have a conversation, however. Unfurling his wings, Raziel stepped from the rooftop and let the updrafts fill them, gliding easily over to the other building. By the time Kain had completely recovered his bearings, Raziel had landed neatly on the roof's edge, a polite distance away.

"Good eve."

Kain jerked his sword from between the tiles and looked up, just in time to watch Raziel land. The other vampire's cloven feet crunched sharply into the ice frosting the stone roof, even as Raziel himself landed lightly, easily. Raziel tucked his wings tight with neat movements, folding them precisely.

Kain growled softly. "It seems you were quite correct, in your tale of this place," he admitted. Anything -- everything -- about this place could be falsified, except... except the stars. The clear sight of them, more than anything else, had convinced him that this... wasn't home. "I met the other vampires in this world," Kain stated lowly.

"Oh?" Raziel had not seen Kain encounter Seras, which meant ... "Do you mean the Dumahim, perchance?"

Dumahim? The name meant nothing to Kain. "Elders," he said, "with cloven hands and feet; well-armored." And also more powerful than Kain, or at least older, judging solely by their auras. But though the pair had dealt Kain injury, one had fallen easily enough to the Reaver -- not that any creature wouldn't, he supposed. And the other vampire... well. Gaara had taken care of that one.

Clearly, Raziel was not of their kind... but they and he *felt* similar, and Kain knew not why -- knew not if such a bestial fate lay in his own future. Best be to the point. "What makes you different from they?" And of course, unspoken, _what makes me any different?_

_Elders?_ Raziel was a bit taken aback by the description, until he saw the truth in it. By a fledgling's reckoning, no doubt the monstrous Dumahim would also seem monstrously old.

"In truth, it was not them I spoke of. I do not consider them true vampires—they are nothing but shadows, monstrous phantoms created by this place from the expectations of my mind. In any case, they are not Chosen, as I am sure you have found." Raziel paused, gauging his next words. "In my time...they are called Dumahim. They were true vampires, once—but now are little more than beasts."

"What fate befell them, and how did you avoid the same?" Kain asked. What place could such elders have in Raziel's memories -- memories of Kain's future, he supposed -- hundreds of years in his future, should he live so long. It seemed that Raziel had avoided the misfortune of the Dumahim -- at least superficially. Raziel's wings, Kain thought, were unlikely to be a product of whatever curse had befallen the Dumahim, who were warped in far less elegant ways.

Raziel crossed his arms, regarding the slim, pale form that stood before him. Even now, his eyes were greedy for the sight of Kain, even in such a youthful guise. It was oddly painful, sometimes, to see him thus. It brought Raziel's memory back to simpler times, when it was the two of them against the world, and little idea of the fates that lay in wait.

"Before I answer, I must ask you—are you very certain that you want the answers to these questions? Knowing that if I give you answers, I will also reveal what will inevitably happen? I warn you, not all of it is ... pleasant. Think hard on that before you commit yourself to such foreknowledge..." For his part, Raziel had been doing his own thinking since their first meeting. Unfortunately, all answers that had come to him had been less than satisfying.

He had no way of knowing whether the knowledge a younger Kain might gain in Haven, whether knowing the path of his future self, would change Nosgoth's fragile history. Unfortunately, he also could do little to prevent Kain from such knowledge—even if he refused to speak, there were other Chosen who would not be so circumspect. Even the tomes in the Under-Library would reveal most if not all of Nosgoth's secrets, if Kain undertook the time to look. At first he had been tempted to approach the Powers, and ask what harm might come by such meddling ... but he soon rejected the idea. He did not trust them to give any answer that would resolve the matter.

No—he and Kain would have to find their own balance on the matter.

Kain's eyes widened. He'd sought Raziel intending to cross blades with him, to test his strength if he could, nearly as much as to seek answers. Yet it seemed that answers were to be had for the asking. In a very central way, this was the polar counterpart of the way the Powers treated with their Chosen, and the heart of Kain's argument against the former. The Powers seemed to assume their rationale, their motivations, were beyond Chosen understanding, and thus withheld all information -- rightly or wrongly, but without allowing the Chosen to choose elucidation or not.

Raziel offered knowledge on an open palm.

And yet… tempted though he was by the offer, Kain knew too that the timestream was a fickle thing. Even his one, 'brief' experience with altering time had taught him that. How much more havoc could a time alteration of several hundred years produce? Kain was not eager to leap blindly into matters where the fate of his world was concerned. As much as he'd sought knowledge, he'd sought it for a _purpose._

What, then, if the consequences of knowledge were to be the unbinding of that purpose?

Kain's eyes narrowed consideringly. He fought the urge to pace – the motion might be calming perhaps, but also disastrous on the slippery rooftop. A fall from this height would be… unlikely to very much impress the elder. "To what degree is this world connected to Nosgoth's timestreams?" he asked carefully.

"Only to the degree that you and I are in it, and no more." Raziel said evenly. "What you do here will not affect Nosgoth, except in the changes you affect in yourself. Or me," he added as an afterthought, mouth curling upwards in a sardonic expression.

If that was all there was to it – if the only risk lay in Kain's foreknowledge, not in any physical changes, then Kain feared little. If he knew his fate, he had a hope of changing it. And as for the threat of unpleasantness – Kain cared not at all. "Then yes. Tell me what fate befell the Dumahim, how you escaped it."

Very well. If Kain wanted such truths, then Raziel would not gainsay him.

"The Dumahim fell prey to an integral corruption in their natures—one that stemmed from the madness that infected the Nine, the corruption of the Pillars, and instilled in them upon the moment of their making ... by you." Raziel paused, then continued before Kain could protest.

"They thought, as did I, once, that the slow changes our bodies underwent as the ages passed were natural. That vampires were destined to change away from our merely human seemings, and into something more ... divine. Time proved us terribly wrong." As to Kain's second question, and himself—he did not answer. Revealing his death, and the circumstances around it, to this uncaring younger Kain ... selfishly, Raziel wished to postpone such painful talk as long as possible.

Kain's knuckles tightened on the hilt of the Serioli sword, the tip of the blade still resting on the slate. "The Dumahim are… spawn of mine? My… fledglings?" He glanced down at his own short, sharp nails. They grew thicker, blacker, every year. Kain kept them filed as well as he was able, lest he be unable to wear gauntlets. They were a far cry from the massive talons Raziel or the Dumahim sported, and yet… what changes could a hundred years or more effect?

"Yes," Raziel affirmed mercilessly. "They are all descended from Dumah, one of your fledglings. I know not how many generations—but it hardly matters. Those closer to your blood were not spared monstrousness in any case. Only Dumah retained a small measure of his intelligence."

"Then the world is indeed caught between stones," Kain said, glancing away. Kain had thought his nature, as an artificial creature, to be the element standing in the way of his ability to procreate. He'd not imagined that the taint – the taint he'd been born with – could be passed on so. If vampires were the only force capable of standing against the Hylden, and yet any fledglings of Kain's creation were to become so warped and mindless… what chance could there be? "What of my… other fledglings? Fared they no better?"

Raziel shrugged uncomfortably, watching his sire. "Those that did not die—all suffered the same fate." It was truth enough, though a lie in omission. _Except for myself,_ he could have said—but that was hardly true either. He certainly had been no less monstrous as a wraith as his brethren had become as vampires. He wondered what this incarnation of Kain would have thought, had he encountered the wraithly, ruined form Raziel had inhabited.

"That flaw, or taint ... it did not destroy you—but it inevitably led to the corruption of all you strove to build," he said finally. Raziel wished he could offer some scrap of comfort, but without speaking of the Reaver ... it was nigh impossible.

Kain drew a slow breath, and blew it out, eyes narrowed. His body warmed the air only slightly, and little but a wisp of condensation escaped his mouth in the cold air. "It is a devious trap Moebius has woven, indeed. The solution would seem simple -- I'll no longer seek to create fledglings," he said. Kain knew, of course, that it was not so easy as that -- in seeking to avoid the fate Raziel knew, Kain might only invoke worse. The Hylden and the threat they represented weighed upon his mind.

Kain hoped there was at least one other option. If he could find another vampire, an untainted one, his race might yet be resurrected. He focused on Raziel. The other vampire was fascinating enough, simply by the fact of his being, but what if.... Kain's gaze fell to what was, at this angle, the most obvious difference 'twixt himself and Raziel. "May I see your hands?" Kain inquired.

With a wry quirk of his mouth at Kain's proclamation, Raziel gazed at him a moment—then unfolded his arms and extended his hands. The three-taloned fingers curled a bit as he did so, and he watched the younger vampire warily. "Why are my hands suddenly of such interest? Have you taken up palmistry, Kain?" Raziel quipped.

The corner of Kain's mouth twisted up. He braced off one of the strange devices -- and why would anyone affix shields upon their edges to a rooftop? -- and jumped closer to the other figure, boots skidding a little in the thick hoarfrost. "It seems that you are more rightly the haruspex, not I," he said dryly. "If such... metamorphoses as those are indeed in my future, it seems judicious to become familiar with them now." He reached the edge, just more than an arms' length from the other vampire. At this distance, the feel of Raziel's age was like a pressure, a dark and volatile conductivity. "May I?" he asked, motioning to Raziel's wrist.

Raziel tilted his head, then opened his hand further. "As you like." A memory floated past ... when Kain had first gained his own talons, and a stolen moment of indulgence when he had allowed a much-younger Raziel to touch and marvel at them .... Everything in his life seemed to come full circle, it seemed.

Kain reached out to the proffered wrist. The other vampire's skin was paler than even his own, verging on stark white. Something about the skin seemed odd, the texture perhaps, or the thickness. The... feel of the other's flesh was nearly as startling as it had been previously, leaving a certain... electric echo behind upon Kain's skin, like a faint breath. It reminded Kain, in fact, of the shadowy sense of kinship he felt from the Reaver -- an impression that had grown more concrete as the blade fed and brightened. How very strange.

"Vorador had these," Kain said consideringly, cupping the back of the other's hand. The three long talons lay open across his palm. "Are some changes associated with the taint, and some not?" The backs of the talons were curved, very hard, smooth, but came to sharp ridges that ran the whole length. The undersides were flat or even slightly scooped -- in cross section, the talon might resemble a loaf of bread, with domed top, flat sides, squared bottom -- but not entirely smooth. Ridges crossed the underside of the talon, forming a chevron pattern. Kain carefully ran a forefinger down the center of the longest talon, feeling the ridges catch at his nail. Raziel's grip on a sword's hilt must be marvelously good.

"I do not know. The Ancients also only had hands such as these, though not quite as beweaponed," Raziel said slowly, watching Kain explore the nature of his hands. The talons themselves no longer felt anything but the barest echoes of touch along their hardened surfaces, but he could feel Kain's more-fragile fingers along the breadth of his palm and where hand met wrist. So pale and soft—he had almost forgotten what fingers such as those were like, with a vampire's strength, yet a human's resiliency ....

He wished he could reach out and touch, explore this memory that stood in the flesh before him—but he doubted Kain would allow such liberties.

"Most changes ... were beneficial. I do not know at what point the cusp was reached, and the inevitable decline began." He had been dead at the time, after all.

The texture of the talon, Kain thought, faded from leathery thickness where it met the palm, to something more like horn or chitin towards the tip. The edges at the sides of the talon changed texture as well, from somewhat blunt, low seams at the base to blade-sharp ridges near the middle. Towards the tip, the ridges became -- when Kain looked more closely -- very slightly serrated, ferociously keen. No wonder these hands had done such easy damage to Kain's unprotected hide.

Raziel's hands were triple-jointed, just as were a human's. Pressing harder, Kain could feel the joint of the knuckle -- the interlocking bundle of bone and tendon beneath the skin was nearly as thick as Kain's two fingers -- but the joints towards the tip were better shielded, and could only really be detected as angles in the digit. Raziel's words sparked an idea. "Is it possible that the taint can be controlled for a time? Or that a way could be found to avoid passing it on?"

Raziel hesitated. Here was a question he did not want to answer. He had known it would come, however—very little in their mutual past did not come down to the Reaver, Kain, or himself, and the almost incestual relationship they all had with one another, down the twisting pathways of time.

Finally, reluctantly, he said, "There is. ...one of your fledglings found a way." He looked at that downturned head. _It was my choice. My sacrifice. I must remember that ... _

Kain looked up, startled. "Then so too must I," he said. And he must do so before he sired, that much was clear. The Dumahim... creatures were no fit progeny. Raziel had said that Kain's fledglings all suffered the effects of the taint Kain carried, but if it could somehow be filtered, prevented from passing on to the next generations, then perhaps there was a chance for his world after all.

Kain paused then, sensing a shadow of... something, old pain, cross the other's golden eyes. "The way involves you, does it not? You... or others like you? Your clan?"

"It involves me, yes," Raziel said slowly. "My clan ... is dead." _By your hand._ But there was no use in castigating *this* Kain for a sin he had yet to commit. Still, he could not prevent himself from giving Kain a humorless smile. "Do not fear—you will find no monstrous shadows of my line, here or anywhere else."

Kain released Raziel's hand, with some regret. He passed his thumb across his own palm and fingers absently, appreciating the faint, lingering sense of resonance. As much as he wished to ask after this salvation that one of Kain's fledglings had found -- would find in the future -- the fact that there was a surfeit of _time_ to be had here in Haven did not escape him. Patience was somewhat easier in a place like this.

And... if Raziel had once had a clan, then that meant that he, or his kind, had made other vampires. Also fascinating. "To what are you fighting to return?" Kain asked, seeking the other's motivations. The humans here, even the Robin with his compatriots awaiting him, did not seem eager to seek their homes. Kain had only his destiny, and his planet, awaiting him -- more than reason enough to seek escape. But Raziel? He knew not.

"That ... is an excellent question." Raziel looked away over the unnaturally-bright skyline of Haven's buildings. "And a difficult one to answer. But if you seek answers, I would suggest that there are more comfortable places to obtain them than icy and treacherous rooftops?" He turned back to Kain. "You are welcome to follow me to my lodgings, if you wish." There was a pause as a thought came to him, then a question- "You can follow me in the air, correct?"

"Of course," said Kain. Which, frankly, might or might not be the case. The bats could be unerring when they fixed upon a prominent landmark, but were largely inutile for flights of shorter distance, or when Kain did not know his destination. And if the cloud of small, winged bodies became confused and separated… well. Kain had been practicing, and most certainly would not permit _that_ to happen again. Fixing the feel of Raziel carefully in his mind, Kain nodded firmly.

Some of the bravado might have leaked past his facade, however, for Raziel fixed Kain with his gaze a moment more. But he turned without comment, unfolding wings from his back. A leap, and he was winging his way leisurely skyward, waiting for Kain to follow.

Kain attended closely as Raziel leapt easily aloft, wings slicing down with a crisp, clear crack. Kain tensed on the edge of the slippery roof. Then paused, and put his Serioli sword away, for dissolving a blade into batform was occasionally a little interfering, and…. _Damnation!_ and finally just jumped, letting himself disintegrate midair.

And found that Raziel was extremely difficult to detect via echolocation. The bats' ears, attuned to higher frequencies, missed the low, measured beats of Raziel's wings, and something about the way sound reflected from the other vampire's hide was… confounding. Raziel's aura made the bats skittish; Kain felt a few try to shy away and had to spare attention to corral them back. But the core of that aura was as unmistakable as it was distracting, and willfully, Kain forced his form to follow, fighting against the air, trying to get abreast of the winged vampire.

Raziel flew slowly, deliberately—not using thermals to circle upward for fear of confusing the myriad bats that made up Kain's form, but instead flying steadily towards his eyrie. It was not a long trip; they were at the edges of his territory as it was, and soon the rooftop came into view. Bats fluttering around and behind him, he glided downward, until he could land on the flat surface and wait for Kain to reform.

Concentrating solely on attempting to overtake Raziel – and he had nearly done so! – Kain was a moment slow in noticing the ground. He felt the other vampire land, could feel that the nucleus of the darksome aura had ceased moving, and Kain… also landed. In a manner of speaking. Not entirely certain what all the disparate parts of him had hit, except that there seemed to be rather a lot of gravel involved, Kain reformed as quickly and smoothly as possible, attempting to convey the impression that the alighting, however it had looked, had been precisely what he'd intended.

Raziel watched Kain reform, a shadow of amusement crossing across his face. Then he bowed slightly in acknowledgement, and swept a hand towards the rooftop door. "Follow me."

He led the way down from the upper roof, though the wooden doors and into the bare confines of the loft. Once there, he stirred a couple braziers to greater life with one talon-tip. Looking around at the loft, with its bare brick walls and creaking wooden floors, Raziel had to suppress a sudden urge to apologize to Kain for the lowly nature of his abode. For any other, it wouldn't have mattered, but ...

Instead he said, "Feel free to sit, if you will," and moved to retrieve a bottle of _yarbareh._

Kain followed the other vampire, and then halted momentarily in the doorway, trying to keep his sudden awe from showing. The walls of the large, rectangular chamber were… real, were brick instead of terrible undifferentiated white substance. The pictures so common everywhere else were replaced by thick hanging tapestries, finely woven. The floor was good wood, offering solid footing, not covered in the enormous rugs so ubiquitous in this insane dimension. There were no glowing, too-bright glass bubbles inserted into the ceiling; the only light came from several braziers of coals.

Kain felt as if a knot had loosened from betwixt his shoulders.

Too distracted to really notice anything but his surroundings, Kain trailed his hand along one wall – not hollow, like so much of the other construction in Haven. Alerted by the crackle of fire and a flare of embers, he watched as Raziel dipped a talon into one of the open bowls of coals, and then another, and could not keep his eyes from widening. What in hell…? Were the coals magical constructs, then? But no, Kain discovered, as Raziel turned to a table along the far wall; the brazier was most definitely real. And quite hot. Kain quickly folded his somewhat singed fingertips into a fist.

Raising an eyebrow as his sire prowled about his lodgings, Raziel uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount into two tankards. He proffered one to Kain silently, then took the other and sat on a far stool, adjacent to a chessboard.

"You asked what reason I have to return to Nosgoth, did you not?" he said, breaking the silence. "If pressed, I suppose I must say foremost among them is duty ..." He looked down at the dark depths of his bloodwine.

Kain accepted the mug with some suspicion, examining the liquid inside. It did not smell like blood – not exactly. It was alcoholic, though certainly not ale or wine, much to Kain's relief. He'd tried alcohol since his undeath, and though he was able to stomach a mouthful or two of strong wine or liquor, weaker brews burned nearly as badly as did water.

Kain sat upon the nearer stool, across from Raziel, still trying to decide what to do with the tankard. Presumably one drank from it, but Kain had grown more than a little cautious of new liquids after innumerable poisonings. He opened his mouth to ask, then closed it as Raziel spoke. "Duty?" He prompted instead, tilting the flagon a little. Yes, the fluid was definitely thicker than any alcohol Kain knew.   
Raziel took a quaff of his wine, eyes slitting shut in pleasure as it burned down his throat. Still a trifle acidic for his tastes, the blood notes plebeian—but Haven's vintages seemed to be improving somewhat.

"Duty ... as you have surmised, the solution to ridding yourself and Nosgoth of the taint inflicted by the Circle of Nine is, partially at least, my responsibility. Tempting though it may be to turn my back on it ..." His gaze fixed upon Kain's face, pale and sharp-edged as any other fledgling, a front for the fire he knew well lay within his sire.

Kain raised an eyebrow. "This… pocket dimension so tempts you?" he asked, for Raziel's abode was the only locale worthy of being called 'haven' he'd found in this bizarre realm, regardless of its name. Even here, enclosed in thick walls, the sounds of distant carriages and the omnipresent buzz of electricity intruded faintly, though not a tenth so much as confounded his senses elsewhere.

He'd watched Raziel lift his flagon; the other vampire obviously enjoyed the drink. If Raziel could imbibe the liquor, then surely Kain could as well. With a last glance of reservation at the dark fluid in his own mug, he took a cautious sip. And blinked. Claret-like, with a bloody rich taste that somehow felt sweet against his palate, and a faint alcoholic burn that lingered in the back of his throat. "What is this?" Kain blurted in astonishment, before he could think better.

Raziel smiled a bit at Kain's honest surprise. "_Yarbareh_," he said, rolling the word over his tongue much as he had the wine. "Bloodwine. One of the better innovations of the Clans."

"_Yarbareh_," Kain repeated, indulging in a deeper draught. This was an extraordinarily fine invention indeed. Still -- he pursued the question. "What tempts you to turn your back on" _home_ "Nosgoth? Surely not this banal place."

"Hardly. I would give a great deal to be able to see Nosgoth again ...." Especially Nosgoth as he had seen it in the past, before the corruption at its core had parched the earth and the vampires had scorched the sky. Raziel looked away. One could not rule a land for a thousand years and not come to know it in all its forms, not treasure it even beyond the possessiveness born of a vampire's need for territory in which to hunt.

"My choices, however, are not so sanguine. To go back to Nosgoth—I merely exchange the fate of a prisoner for one ... even less desirable, if possible."

"In that case," Kain shrugged, for it seemed a simple solution, "return with me, when the time comes." With a few hundred years to fully examine the conundrum, Kain felt certain he could find a way to repel Raziel's fate. And if the other vampire indeed knew how to counteract the taint, felt a duty to do so... all the better by far.

Raziel froze in mid-sip, staring at Kain at the suggestion. Then, very carefully, he set the cup down as his grip threatened to crush it.

_Return with me._ A tempting prospect, if not for the inherent Paradox in it. "That is impossible, I'm afraid," he said flatly.

Kain took another swallow, considering. Time travel was very possible, after all, even if one did it by way of this miserable realm. A being from the future could exist quite reasonably in the past -- Kain was certain of it, having done so himself. "Two temporal incarnations of an object can coexist," he pointed out, recalling the Reaver. He had to presume that similar incarnations of a being could, as well. In any case, Kain had yet to be born in the past era to which he'd traveled; the situation would be similar with Raziel.

As for having such a powerful creature as Raziel to contend with... well. The planet was damned to lingering decay unless Kain could solve Moebius' fundamental paradox. Even at the risk of having Raziel as an enemy, Kain could not slip a chance at salvation. And Kain hoped it would not come to blows between them; the elder was comparatively even-tempered, and Kain had much to offer in return for his assistance, not least his aid in circumventing Raziel's fate.

"Think you on the likelihood of escaping from this realm?" Kain said finally, for there was more in Raziel's refusal, he thought, than simple negation.

Raziel shrugged. "If there is a way, it will not be simple or easy. Even most of our jailors do not live in this prison they have wrought, but ... elsewhere. That much I have gleaned. I hold out hope, however, that I may yet find a way, if only through stubborn persistence." It was better than the alternative, in any case. "If I do, and find that our captors are indeed trying to preserve Nosgoth, then perhaps I shall aid them. But doing so will be *my* choice, not theirs!" Raziel's words were growled and fierce at that last.

Kain tilted his head. "Indeed," he said, agreeing. Forcing Raziel to do... well, anything, seemed to him a task fraught with some peril. His eyes slid to the scarred planks of the floor. Deep scrapes had been worn into the thick wood, curved like the edge of Raziel's foot. Kain wondered if those cloven feet were as keen as Raziel's talons -- surely the edges must wear down a little with walking?

"I was told of a faction opposed to the Powers, though their motives were... distasteful. Know you aught of them?" Kain asked. The tankard in his hands, Kain noted, had been half-emptied, though he was not entirely certain when he had done so. What marvelous stuff this Yarbareh was.

"I know of them somewhat, though they have not approached me directly. Which is surprising, given that I have made no secret of my antipathy towards the Powers' high-handed tactics," Raziel said, relaxing somewhat as they moved on to less charged tactics.

"They seem to be a self-serving lot—they wish control of this world, and of the Chosen, in order to have the new worlds that are to be made done so according to their desires. They have attempted to suborn the Chosen by promising what each individual desires—and they have attacked the Powers directly once, and by all accounts were repulsed. Since then they and their agents have been silent—licking their wounds, no doubt." His voice was scornful, but he watched the younger Kain carefully. Did he think to make an alliance with them?

"It all seems very convenient," Kain mused, "Two factions scrapping like children over a handful of toys." He could not imagine that any force would be so foolhardy to attack another equal force directly, headon, as Itachi claimed the Stars had the Powers. The facts of the matter, so far as Kain knew them, suggested there were more factors at play than Kain could guess at.

Still -- "I imagine the 'ninja' named Itachi was accounted one of their agents? He too seems to think the 'Stars' failed miserably," Kain's mouth twisted wryly, for he could help little being amused by the reference to the fates. "Well, if failure was not their goal in the first place." Setting the flagon back on the table, Kain touched lightly on the top of one of the heavy chess pieces, tilting the pale granite figure onto its edge. The sides of the piece were deeply scarred in now-familiar lines and creases.

"If it was, it seems to have availed them little." Raziel tilted his head, recognizing the name. "You have been speaking to other Chosen, then, if you know of Itachi. So there is dissension in their ranks as well? That does not surprise me ...." He watched Kain toy with the bishop thoughtfully.

Kain nodded. "I have been speaking to Itachi, amongst others." He let the chess piece settle back into place. "I do not know if there is indeed dissention among the Stars' ranks, though I imagine there might. Rather I question the entire premise of the game," Kain said, picking up the tankard again. "The Stars seemed to have gathered as many Chosen as they could, and then flung themselves headlong into the teeth of the Powers' stronghold. For godlike immortals, both sides would appear to have surprisingly little common sense."

"Arrogance comes easily to immortals," Raziel pointed out with a wry twist of his lips. "It is not inconceivable that they simply overestimated their strength, or underestimated that of their foes." He did likewise, picking up his tankard and taking a healthy swallow, letting the bloodwine relax him. "Or did Itachi think they were playing at some subtle stratagem by allowing themselves to be defeated?"

"No," said Kain, addressing the latter question, "Itachi, and others, believed they failed, and miserably so. If either side has such little tactical ability, therein might lie an avenue of exploitation." Kain's limbs felt pleasantly lax, a little heavy. He'd not thought to enjoy the taste of alcohol again after his resurrection -- the flavor of this yarbareh lingered sweetly.

"True. Though at this juncture, we still have the problem of ... accessibility." Raziel frowned down into his tankard. It was difficult to fight someone who refused to even live on the same world.... "As it stands, neither side considers Chosen as anything more than convenient pawns." He lifted his hand, and knocked over an obsidian pawn with a disdainful flick.

"Hn. Itachi claimed to be know how to access their stronghold, presumably even without the Stars' assistance," said Kain, eyes following the other's inhumanly rapid motion. Barely. "Of course, making such an assault directly would be foolhardy." Raziel had said the Powers were too puissant for him to attack directly, and that implied... well. Kain was not eager to throw himself into hopeless combat. But he knew perfectly well how coalitions could be picked apart, member turned upon member, leaving the stragglers to fall to Kain's blade.

"Of course," Raziel said thoughtfully. "This Itachi—he is disillusioned with his current masters, then. Did you get a sense of whether he could be swayed in any way from his current loyalties?"

"Indeed," said Kain, the corner of his mouth turning up, "Itachi knew not whether his former masters even survived. He is now sworn to the Powers, and extremely... eager to be so swayed." Kain misliked very much accepting the aid of a man twice foresworn, but Itachi's experiences with both Powers and Stars could be undeniably useful. "Still, as for accessibility, other means must needs be sought. If the Powers are not aware of Itachi's method of reaching their dominion, they could become so." Kain was not one to trust all his dice to a single throw, not if it could be helped.

"Even a traitor has his uses, if kept on a tight leash," Raziel remarked. "Our weakness for the moment being that we have little we can promise in order to subvert him. Still, it is something worth considering." It was remarkably easy to fall back into old habits, into discussing strategy and tactics with his sire, and plotting the downfall of others. It was a comfort he had not ever expected to find again ... much less in a place such as Haven.

"Agreed, on all points," said Kain thoughtfully, and started to lean back before he realized the chair had no backrest. Righting himself seemed to take rather a bit of concentration. Kain straightened, squaring his shoulders deliberately. "There are other means which might prove some distraction to the Powers, perhaps enough to gauge their strengths and weaknesses, and force the divulgence of some truth...."

Kain lost track of time as they discussed potential decoys, ambushes, undermines, proximate strategies -- the ways in which powerful enemies could be lured or confused, all with the purpose of shaking loose a hint at the truth. Kain had perhaps not intended to confer quite so much, but Raziel was a wondrously fine sounding-board. His range of experience was enormous -- perhaps to be expected, given his tremendous age -- and his warfaring instincts finely honed. For all Raziel's comparative isolation, he had a grasp on the Powers' dispositions and capacities that Kain found utterly unique; none of the publicly-available information, nor any of the other Chosen, viewed the Powers in such minutely detailed, predatory light. The other vampire was able to turn over Kain's suggestions, examine them for flaws, discard or improve them. Kain didn't always feel that Raziel was right, but the other vampire was consistently well-reasoned.

Raziel, Kain realized -- sometime in the midst of a table-pounding argument over whether the Willendorf forces of the 837 campaign, fifteen years ago by Kain's reckoning, had failed due to incompetence or the over-extension of their supply lines -- was one of the finest generals Nosgoth had ever known. Perhaps the finest -- and Kain had no minor ability in that regard, himself. Kain suspected that fact ought to have alarmed him; for what place could such a leader have in Kain's future, save as an adversary? Yet he found he could not summon more than a vestige of chariness.

Of course, nearly an entire bottle of Yarbereh might have had something to do with that, as well.

The wine had also loosened Raziel's tongue, if not to the degree it had Kain. Still, it allowed him to let go of some of his guardedness around his too-young sire, and speak openly of tactics and his concerns regarding Haven. He even spoke of this 'teaching' that the Powers claimed they were bestowing upon Chosen—a teaching that made Chosen disappear for a time, and then reappear, but with no memory of their disappearance, nor of the things they were supposedly taught.

It was ... good to have the company of another vampire again, even a fledgling; one who understood predatory instincts and old courtesies. And the deference Kain showed to him, as elder, was both gratifying and strange. Raziel wondered idly if Kain would remember this time, if or when he returned to Nosgoth—or if he indeed *had* remembered it, and said nothing, keeping it secret in his inscrutable way. Time travel could be tiresome to think about ....

The glow of the braziers had begun to dim by the time Kain finished exploring his impressions, and his intentions, in regards to Haven. News of the occasional disappearance of the Chosen struck Kain as more than vaguely sinister -- who knew what horrors might be inflicted on those so abducted? But Raziel seemed as eager to uncover the truth of this place as was Kain, even if the elder seemed considerably more patient in his planning. Thus it was with a host of new considerations, avenues of assault, and even a vague sense of optimism, that Kain finally turned his attention once more to Raziel himself. Kain'd arranged his stool to be able to lean against the near wall, finding that the solid bricks yet held some heat, even as the room cooled.

Raziel's armor caught and reflected the dying light, and Kain was drawn once more to the differences 'twixt he and the elder. He sat up, then, curious. Raziel was saying something about the pike formation tactics of the Aruvian dynasty, located long ago where the city-state of Meridian now stood and ancient history even to Kain. He watched the other's black lips. Was the skin thinner there? Kain's own lips -- and his exposed flesh, when he took injury -- were somewhat darker in hue than the rest of his skin, a faintly purpled gray, perhaps a bit more dusky when he fed well. But not black. He leaned forward abruptly, reaching with two fingers towards the other's face. "May I?" he had the presence of mind to ask.

Raziel had tensed at the abrupt movement—fledgling or not, he had known Kain too long to be perfectly at ease in his sire's presence. Then, at the request, he relaxed infinitesimally.

"More curiosity?" he said, amused. But then, it was the nature of fledglings to explore and push the boundaries. "Very well, then."

Kain's eyes narrowed just a fraction at the other's indulgent tone, perfectly evident even if the warmth of yarbareh clouded his perceptions a little. Still, permission to take liberties was essentially what he'd sought. "And why not curiosity?" Kain breathed, laying the pads of his index and middle fingers lightly upon the perfectly formed bow of Raziel's upper lip. He'd been right, he thought -- the black skin was very much thinner, the boundary between the black and white discrete and defined. He traced over that boundary, wondering at the differences in texture and thickness, the faint reignited echo of recognition in his own fingers. "You are a most..." transcendent and Kain wanted suddenly very much to conquer, to own, "...curious being."

For his pride's sake, Raziel had to suppress a shiver and the instinctive urge to bow his head. But the feel of Kain's fingertips upon him once more—not talons, not the hard, possessive grip he had come to know later, much later, but the almost-forgotten feel of Kain's cool fingers across skin, was like walking into a memory. For a moment he felt as if he were a fledgling once more, the realities of time held suspended as he submitted to his sire's touch.

His pupils expanded, and his hands twitched, wanting to return the touch. But his fingers were no longer so harmless, and he did not think Kain would accept such liberties easily. He drew in a slow breath. "Better curious ... than monstrous, I suppose," Raziel said dryly, trying to cover how much Kain's nearness affected him.

Raziel's lips moved with speech under his fingers. "Monstrous?" Kain said, brows drawing together in confusion. "Why would you..." and then paused, biting his tongue, for it was possible that he'd misunderstood whom, exactly, Raziel thought monstrous. Kain growled softly, too enthralled to consider taking offense. He traced the flat of his thumb across the softness of Raziel's lips, cupping his fingers along Raziel's jaw and cheek, feeling the resiliency of the perfectly white skin, noting the chasing of darker veins deep beneath the surface. The texture was not quite like Kain's own, but rather as if the very top layer of Raziel's skin were a covering over crosshatched fibers, all but undetectable, save by touch. "How much can you feel?" asked Kain, fighting to keep the wonder from showing through his voice. Raziel had called these changes away from mere human seemings 'divine', and Kain could think of no more apt word.

"Quite well—though it is possible the sensation would be more dulled on other parts of my body than my face," Raziel said thoughtfully, concentrating on the sensation of Kain's hand, smoothing down one cheek. "For the most part, my skin is thicker than a fledgling's, and harder to pierce—a firm touch I would feel, but not more ephemeral irritants: an insect upon my arm, for instance, or the brush of a feather. Exceptions being made for more ... intimate areas, of course." His mouth quirked upward.

Raziel was past seeing himself as divine, even in part—but that did not mean he did not enjoy some of the changes that had been wrought.

The reminder -- that Raziel knew fledglings, had perhaps made some himself, was of course intensely interesting, though no moreso than the skin beneath his hand. Kain slid from the low stool, crouching closer. He hooked a lock of Raziel's hair back behind his ear -- pointed ears, just like Kain's.

Kain withdrew his hand from the other's face and laid his palm flat on the other's chest, just below the clasp of cloak and armor. Raziel's heart was unbeating, just like his, though here Kain could just detect the unvaried flow of blood through arteries, driven by an unknown force. Also exactly like Kain, and knowing that his physiology was not entirely unique, entirely unnatural, was a strange and unexpected solace.

This close, Raziel had ample time to study that sharp-planed, intent face, devoid of the ridges and heavier features that Kain had gained as the centuries past. His skin was also different—not only more fragile, but bone white, pure and untarnished, with none of the veining that had given the elder Kain his elemental appearance, as if carved of petrified wood or stone.

One thing remained the same, however .... Carefully, so as not to spark retaliation, Raziel lifted a taloned hand, and sifted talon-tips carefully through the smooth silk of Kain's silver-white hair. Not as long as it was to become, it still was longer than Raziel's own, a heavy fall over armored shoulders. Raziel lifted strands to the light, admiring their unchanging purity. "A few things remain ...." he murmured, mostly to himself.

Kain started, surprised at the careful touch; nearly snarled -- but then permitted the touch with a slight shrug, wondering if he were at all different from the other fledglings Raziel had known. The tips of his hair whispered over the shadow-clouded surface of his wraith armor as a lock was lifted to the dying light. "Things?" prompted Kain, not really listening. Lightly at first, then a little harder, Kain dug in his nails, testing the thickness Raziel claimed of his skin. Human flesh always split easily under his fingers, like the skin of a ripe peach -- this was far more durable, more robust. Darker veins corded under the high-white surface. It would take, he thought, concerted effort to break the flesh here, as if Raziel were wearing protection equivalent to fine chainmail just inside of his skin.

"Idle musings ... pay no heed to them," Raziel said quietly, letting the strands slip away with some regret. He watched as Kain tested his skin with his nails, still blunted and fragile as a human's. "You have never encountered a vampire my age before?" He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to know what Kain was thinking. What comparisons were being made, or plans hatched?

"I am unsure," Kain answered, seeing no reason at all to prevaricate. "Vorador was ancient, but...." Vorador had been clearly armored, his skin thick and rough. Raziel's was not -- his natural armor was more cleverly concealed -- and then there was that intensely present impression of power, and the wings. He suspected Raziel was older even than Vorador, or perhaps just stronger, but… he could not be certain. And then, of course, there was that other vampire, also externally armored like Vorador, the one that had played a role in entrapping Kain here in Haven. Kain had 'met' that creature so briefly, he could not gauge its age. Kain slid the tips of his fingers up under the heavy plates of Raziel's shoulder armor, tugging at it a little. As he suspected, there was no padding underneath the pauldrons, just bare steel over skin. Kain's own hide would have been chapped raw by the rubbing of similar armor.

Raziel's chest was denser, more solidly muscled than Kain's own -- long bands and cables of muscle wrapped from his sternum to his ribs, and then around his sides in steel-solid rises, rippling a little as Kain passed his thumb hard along the length of one. Flight muscle, Kain realized; these must be what powered the others' wings. Kain raised his head, about to reach for the wingtips just over the other's shoulders, -- discrete as sword hilts, the folded wings were easy to overlook for all their strangeness -- when his fingers slipped down to Raziel's belly.

Raziel's stomach was plated, Kain realized with surprise. Skin bonded closely to a layer just beneath, forming a shield in linked sections over the muscle -- a defense indistinguishable to the eye from unarmored skin. Kain brought his other hand up, feeling, stroking hard, exploring the extent of the protection. Aware suddenly that he'd not said anything for several moments, Kain searched for something to occupy the other's tongue. "I met a being who claimed to be your ally. One 'Gaara' -- is he such?"

Raziel's gaze grew more intent as Kain's hands wandered over his chest and stomach—he was certainly not immune to being touched thus, and most definitely not immune to *Kain's* touch. His eyes slitted almost shut as he savored the pleasure of it, even as he answered.

"He is. We have a long-standing alliance, to our mutual benefit." His voice was dry, knowing how little of his current relationship with the demon-child that described. "Dare I hope the meeting was amicable?"

So they were allies, and Gaara had not lied -- "I am pleased, then," Kain said, for he'd not relished the thought of hunting down the host of such a powerful demon. And as for the geniality of the meeting... well, Gaara had not killed him. That was... something. Kain sighed a little. If Raziel had not heard the entire story, he certainly would; reticence now would serve Kain little. "Gaara approached me during my altercation with the Dumahim. He disposed of one of the creatures," with inconceivable ease, "and I thought him Sarafan. He... corrected my misapprehension."

The elaborate waist of Raziel's leather trousers interrupted Kain's exploration. Kain passed his hands down to Raziel's thighs. "Are you the same here, too?" he asked, leaning back a bit to examine the heavy-looking armor on Raziel's calves, the cloven feet below.

"I am not sure what you mean by 'the same', but if you mean also armored, then yes," Raziel said with some amusement. "Should I disrobe so that you may inspect me fully?" The invitation, while sardonically given, held an odd note of ... something, possibly longing, in it. Raziel watched those pale hands stroke down his leather-clad legs, and tried not to think too hard on the possibilities.

"You are whole, at least, so it seems the correction was not too stringent. I applaud both of you on your restraint," Raziel added finally, trying to divert himself.

Kain paused, one hand at the top of Raziel's ornate boot, the other upon his thigh. He considered it possible that the wine had emboldened him; he found he did not care. Kain rocked forward a little, slightly on the toes of his boots, measuring Raziel's expression, and nearly shuddered, a wave of want, of need -- to have, to own, to grasp -- overtaking him. Did he want the other to disrobe? Oh yes, and a thousand times over. "I think..." Kain breathed in a low growl, beginning to slither to his feet, hands urging the other up as well, "...perhaps you had best."


	2. Chapter 2

Raziel's eyes opened fully at that admission, hot and golden. He let himself be tugged to his feet, even as the first thrill of apprehension ran through him. If this went further—could he stand to have even a fledgling Kain's hands upon his wings? Hands that might not have the strength to rend, as they had once before, but more than enough to crush and tear?

Raziel was not one to submit to his fears, however. Most certainly not when a building need to be with Kain again, to have his sire's touch again, his sire's appreciation, was hammering so loudly in his ears it was a wonder that Kain himself did not hear it. Without words, his hands went to the heavy buckles of his armor, and Raziel began to disrobe, his eyes never leaving Kain's face.

Kain watched hungrily as Raziel lifted his gloriously taloned hands to the plates of his shoulder guards, clearly seeking the releases. With a soft hiss, Kain reached out and caught one of the wrists. Kain slid the fingers of his right hand alongside those thick talons, cautious of the edges, seeking the same hidden buckle. His fingertips touched leather and then -- just a slight scrape, a brush against the cutting edge of a talon, but Kain felt his fingertips moisten. Growling now, aware on some level that he had not a fraction of the other's strength yet determined to enforce stillness nevertheless, Kain set to work upon the buckle.

The intoxicating scent of Kain's blood filled the air. Breathing deeply of it, Raziel allowed his hands to be pushed away, and for Kain to attend to the task. With nothing to occupy them, they flexed at his sides, wanting to stroke, to lay claim ... His eyes were heavy-lidded, tongue darting out to moisten lips at the siren call of his sire's blood.

The pauldron came away in two pieces, heavier than Kain anticipated. He lifted the metal around and down; it settled to the floor with a heavy thunk against the wood. And now Raziel's shoulders were bare, and corded like his chest with layer upon layer of solid muscle, the patterns utterly unique in Kain's experience, the white of the skin and the black of buried veins, all dappled with crimson-purple fingerprints. "Exquisite," hardly a breath of sound emerged, but Kain felt his lips form the word. He growled a little through his teeth, pressed his mouth into the hollow of the bared shoulder, lapped at the fingerprints to keep more words from escaping.

Surely, if asked, Kain could justify this. Raziel's skin was worthy of most careful exploration -- examination -- after all, and what better way to do so than with his mouth? The tips of Kain's nails scraped down the other's chest, lingered upon the pebbled rise of a nipple, scratched down Raziel's belly, to the buckles at the waist of his black leather pants. Perhaps, if pressed, Kain could justify this too.

Against his tongue, Raziel's skin seemed alive with darksome energy.

Raziel shuddered at the touch of Kain's lips against his skin. The familiarity and the strangeness of that touch made every nerve prickle as if drawn taut and plucked by a master musician. Without thinking, his hands lifted, settling upon Kain's hips with a feather-light touch, talon-tips scraping against the surface of the wraith armor. "It has been ..." he murmured, cutting off the rest of his words for fear they would betray him. _It has been so long ... since I could trust myself to you._ Even now, he was not sure of Kain's intentions—but that too was familiar ground.

The front of Raziel's breeches came open, and Kain could slide the tips of his fingers in, over the hard planes of belly and flank, the exposed skin just a little cooler than his own. Impatient now, Kain pushed at the leather, peeling it down by touch over the other's hips, and -- but Raziel was wearing boots, was he not? Torn for a moment, wanting to divest the elder of the heavy armor and momentarily unwilling to kneel at the other's feet, Kain dragged his nails back up Raziel's sides. Remembering the thickness of Raziel's skin, Kain worked his way down to one flat nipple, nipping, the recurved backs of his fangs scraping, tongue laving over the faint marks he left.

Growling softly in pleasure at each nipping kiss, Raziel arched into the touch, his hands pressing harder, pulling Kain close. Without thought, his hands moved to the first buckles of Kain's breastplate—it had been some time since he had seen the wraith armor, and even longer since he had played squire to his lord, but his hands still knew where to find hidden clasps. Talons worked those buckles with the delicate deftness of practice, even though it would have been easier to slit them apart. As the armor loosened, Raziel stepped backward, knowing that he would need Kain's cooperation to divest him of it completely.

"I would see you as well," he murmured, face intent.

Kain growled around the slight rise of darker flesh, biting down delicately, just with his incisors. He released and withdrew, blowing over the wet skin, watching the nipple harden, the muscles twitch. "Transcendant," he murmured, short black nails just over Raziel's unbeating heart.

And then Raziel stepped back, and Kain discovered that those ferociously edged talons had done fine work of loosening the catches of his breastplate. He paused, just for a moment, recalling what had happened the last time he'd been bare-chested around the other's broad talons. Still -- Kain reached up for one last buckle, then pulled the hauberk and its padded gambeson up over his head.

Raziel's eyes ran greedily over the expanse of perfect, pale skin now revealed—skin marred only by the scar of Kain's death-wound, the stab that had marked the end of his human days. It had been long indeed since he had taken a fledgling to his bed, but surely none of them had the nobility that Kain exuded as naturally as breathing, the pride that stiffened the spine and made a smoothly muscled frame as perfect as any statue. Coupled with blazing golden eyes and the lean, tigerish face ... Raziel stepped forward once more, and cupped that jaw, simply looking intently—as if by doing so he could soak up the indefinable essence of Kain's very self, the essence that lay, at least in part, within his own flesh.

His hand slowly trailed downward, talon-tips barely brushing flesh, down Kain's neck to his chest, tracing the line of his body. "Perfectly made, indeed..."

The grooved center of Raziel's talon touched Kain's jawline, sanguinary edges pressing just above and below. Kain passed the bundle of armor to one hand. "_Quondam contineo_," he breathed, surrendering a fraction of energy to package the black steel away in a pocket of magic. And then he pressed forward.

The talons at Kain's jaw painted hot lines across his cheek and ear, the clawtips at his chest pricked as the hand flattened, firm against his skin. Kain growled, a slight snarl that had nothing to do with pain, and resumed his own exploration.

Raziel could not suppress the hint of a flinch at the magic, worked so casually and so close—but that was quickly forgotten in favor of the flesh under his hands. Bowing his head, he laid lips upon the corner of that jaw, not nipping, but tasting, breathing upon the flesh, and moving lower, to the soft flesh beneath the ear, and the firm cords of the neck ....

In this, Raziel had the advantage of experience—centuries spent serving his sire meant he knew what pleased Kain, what areas to touch, and he used the knowledge ruthlessly. The hand that had cupped Kain's jaw now slid around to the back, tracing down the spine, before settling with easy strength at a certain spot at the base, talons drawing inward, stroking and cutting fine lines in the pale flesh that healed almost instantly.

Kain returned to stroke along Raziel's ribs and... gasped. Pressed up against the elder, he was utterly unable to conceal a full-length shudder. Pain and pleasure, both combined just there, at the small of his back... Raziel's hair, very soft, brushed his lips, the side of his mouth. Pressing touches against his jaw, down his throat -- Kain lifted his chin, exposing more of his throat to that tasting mouth, the faintly warm breath.

Kain grit his teeth against the onslaught of sensation and sought out the same place on Raziel -- and encountered the ornate waist of his breeches instead. Even with the front of the leather unlaced, Kain couldn't dip his fingers down far enough. Removing Raziel's boots was becoming a markedly elevated priority.

Unknowing of Kain's frustrations, Raziel continued to taste and touch, scraping with the edges of his fangs at the vulnerable skin where neck met shoulder, then licking at the wound as it disappeared. It had been long, too long, since he had been with another vampire, and the taste of his sire's blood made him feel lightheaded, almost giddy. Lower, his hands pressed Kain's hips closer, until he could rub his aching and still-imprisoned erection against Kain's own, growling low in his throat at the painful pleasure.

Kain hissed softly, nosing aside Raziel's hair to kiss and nip at the delicately pointed ear, the clean line along the nape. He slid one hand up to cup the back of the elder's neck, a possessive grasp, tight. And then the armor at Kain's hips creaked, just a little as plates compressed and shifted against one another, and Kain understood exactly how much pressure Raziel was so very easily applying.

The evident show of strength was unbelievably arousing.

Kain twisted in Raziel's grasp, a slow undulation that rocked his hips against the open leather, let him slither lower. The serrated edges of Raziel's talons scraped and caught on the smooth plates of the armor, and then at the flesh along Kain's bared sides. Kain followed down Raziel's chest with his mouth -- licking, delicately biting, scraping. Descending to one knee, Kain reached for the clasps he could just see on one boot, sweeping his free hand hard up the inside of Raziel's leather-clad thigh.

Gasping a little at the hot, wet sensation of those bites trailing down his mid-section, Raziel bucked into Kain's hands a little before reining himself in. His hands reached out, one fastening onto Kain's shoulder, the other twining again in silver strands of hair, and an observer would be hard-pressed to know whether he was holding Kain in place or holding himself upright.

Kain, kneeling at his feet ... it felt strange, wrong somehow. And yet, Raziel could not bring himself to gainsay him, could no longer even find the words. So he shifted, lifting his feet in turn, enough to help Kain in ridding him of the last pieces of his armor and strip him down to his skin once more.

The leather peeled easily down Raziel's skin as a taloned hand closed over Kain's shoulder, scoring parallel wounds, deeper now, dribbling purple-red. The pain couldn't prevent Kain's deep rumbling growl of satisfaction -- the cloven feet Kain yearned to explore, the deeply armored texture of Raziel's thighs, the dark-veined white skin, the revealed groin, all so sculpted, so... perfect. Nails dug cuttingly into Raziel's hip and thigh, Kain nosed up under the thick erection, running the tip of his tongue along the length of the corded vein to the head. Kain caught the hood of skin back on the razored tip of one fang, very carefully, and his incisors scraped lightly against that naked flesh as he opened for it.  

A long exhale, part sigh, part groan, escaped Raziel at the first soft touches on his aching cock. The tiny pinpricks of pain where Kain's nails bit into his hip only added spice and savor to it, small flashes that were gone in an instant. "I will admit ... I had not expected you to be so ... eager..." Raziel managed to say with some effort, before all thought fled the moment Kain's mouth enveloped his cock. He stiffened, every nerve wire-tight and humming with pleasure. "Gods ...." He could feel the subtle scrape of fangs, inevitable no matter how careful the vampire. The careful suction, the slick pressure of Kain's tongue against his heavy flesh, it all conspired against his control, drawing his pleasure ever higher.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Raziel wondered if this Kain had ever lain with his own kind. Or was Raziel Kain's first in this, as well ....? The pleasure that thought brought with it was almost equal to that Kain was pulling from his aching cock.

Smoothly, slowly, careful of the tips of his long fangs, Kain sucked at the thick cock. He'd not had occasion to do this frequently since his undeath -- and had shifted into the form of a man even when he had, -- but some skills never really faded. Kain lapped sigils, whorls, over the head, the flared rim, soothing the places his teeth scraped. He flicked the tip of his tongue underneath at the slight divot where the vein joined, then sucked hard, deeply, needing no breath. Raziel's precome was thickly metallic, bitter.

Kain's nails gouged furrows in the white skin of Raziel's thighs as he slid his hands forward, clenching into the lean planes of buttocks. The narrow wounds barely began to bleed – blood syrup-thick and black – before they closed behind Kain's nails.

Then – a small nick, a fine graze against the side of the pale cock as Kain swallowed, tongue and throat rippling against the length of flesh. The scratch was healed faster than it had been made and the taste -- _gods_. Pure black power, the distillation of ages contained in a single fine droplet.

Taloned hands caressed Kain's head, sliding through silver strands with delicate care. Raziel suddenly wished they had made it to the pallet—he wanted to taste his sire's flesh again, to immerse himself in the scent and sight and feeling of it as much as Kain was him. But this was too great a gift to give up, too agonizing a pleasure—he gasped again, a thrill of sensation riding like lightning over his skin as Kain lapped against the sensitive underside of his cock, swallowing. Impossibly, his erection seemed to harden even further. So warm, so tight—Raziel had to fight himself not to thrust down that throat at the sight alone of Kain kneeling before him, much less at the pleasure his too-young sire was wringing from his flesh.

Growling, a thick rumble of vibration around Raziel's cock, Kain swallowed further, lips sealing tight, wet, around Raziel's base. The head slipped easily into his throat, hindered only for a moment by the too-human residuum of a gag reflex, a hitching undulation of muscle around the impalement. Taloned hands stroked lightly over his hair, leaving the wound at his shoulder, and Kain might have hissed, had he air to do so. Pressing against the underside of Raziel's cock with his tongue, Kain shielded the delicate organ from the tips of his fangs as well as he was able. He firmed his grip on Raziel's ass, the back of his thigh, and then, standing, _lifted_.

Raziel was lighter than he'd imagined, little heavier than a human, and easy enough to lift. Maintaining balance as he stood – without biting down -- was harder.

Golden eyes snapped open, wings flaring outward instinctively as Raziel felt his feet leave the floor, borne upward by a surge of vampiric strength. He hissed in surprise, hands leaving Kain's head to dig into his shoulder and curl around the nape of the other vampire's neck with strength just short of crushing bone, talons gouging deep. Yet for all that, Kain's mouth had never left his erection. And in this precarious position, Raziel could not fight free without doing himself grievous harm ...

Raziel growled under his breath, hunched over and shuddering in Kain's grasp, uncertain of the other vampire's intentions. Instinct warred with knowledge—_how dare a fledgling take such liberties!_ with a deeper memory, _my sire, mine, who owns my loyalty, my obedience, my flesh ... _

In his single-minded focus, Kain had not anticipated the sudden and unbalancing spread of Raziel's wings, brushing the wall and ceiling with their stretch. Hands descended to his shoulders, the back of his neck… and cut, grating, bone deep. Kain froze, forcing his jaws not to close on that blind shock of pain, unable to withdraw -- the edge of one talon a bright slice of hurt just over the space between his vertebrae.

A moment passed, and then Kain swallowed instead, resuming the cadence of tongue and throat around the thick cock. His hair began to grow heavy with his own blood. Under the knife-edges of Raziel's talons, the split arteries and veins resealed.

Slowly, Raziel relaxed into Kain's grasp, talons unclenching from their desperate grasp. Even so, one hand remained at the nape of Kain's neck, flexing a little in both encouragement and warning. To have two vampires, two predators, so close, was a chancy thing ... one false move from either, and they could be at each other's throats in the space of a human heartbeat.

His erection did not care for such considerations, however, mindless needy thing that it was. All it cared for was the delightful heat and pressure around it, the slithering touch of Kain's tongue upon moistened skin. Which, Raziel had to admit, was a most ... compelling argument.

Kain rumbled, a humming vibration around Raziel's cock, as the other's wondrously taloned hands pulled free of the gouges they'd carved so easily. Rivulets in purple-crimson trickled down his back, his flanks. Kain had fed very well before seeking the other vampire, and his wounds continued to close fairly quickly – even still not a quarter so fast as did Raziel's. Kain accounted the lingering gashes a lesson well-taken – he'd guard more carefully against too-sudden or too-jolting movements.

For the moment, though, as the pain slowly faded, the advantages of Kain's position became a tangible enticement. Now free to move both himself and Raziel, Kain backed off the rampant erection, just a little, and then swallowed it again, fangs scraping, tongue probing, lashing. And then repeated the motion, rocking Raziel's hips in slow rhythm, relishing the spread and slick slide.

"Bloody hell... Kain ..." Raziel rocked into that grasp, no longer caring about his dignity, only knowing that he wanted *more*. His hips made little abortive thrusts, unable to get any real leverage, his legs still held fast in Kain's hands. He wanted more, he wanted to hold on, he wanted ... but Kain's skill overcame his restraint, and almost before he knew it Raziel was coming, jerking in the younger vampire's grasp and convulsing, his wings outspread and thrashing a little in reaction to the crest of pleasure that swept him up and over and tossed him over the other side.

Kain rode out the hot, writhing paroxysm, the tiny sharp thrusts. In extremis, Raziel surpassed beauty, his wings arching, convulsive, white membrane painted bloody-dappled red in the light of glowing coals.

Raziel relaxed slowly, and Kain released his softening cock, nuzzling just for a moment. He gave the twitching organ one long, lingering lick, eliciting a tremor, a quake that rippled up Raziel's belly muscles. Entranced at the response, Kain did it again, kissing the tip. At last he lowered Raziel's shuddering frame to slip slowly down the length of his body. He clasped Raziel's hips close, pressing the other's abating erection hard against his chest, stomach, the inflexible and smooth plates of his armor. Kain bit at Raziel's collar bone, a teasing scrape. "Flawless," he rumbled deeply, possessively, tonguing the vanished mark. "Beyond compare. Ah, Raziel…."

Bearing Raziel close, one arm now wrapped around the small of the other vampire's back, the other beneath a thigh, Kain moved towards the low, pelt-covered pallet. The winged vampire was empyreal like this, unreal, the pupils of his eyes dilated so that a rind of liquid gold showed around them like a corona, powerful muscles loose, gore-dipped claws flexing, lips just slightly parted. Kain nipped at Raziel's throat, drawing pinpricks of black. Mouth faintly dark – wet with Raziel's gloriously potent blood and with a pearl-silver trace of his seed -- Kain brushed his lips over the other vampire's. _Mine._ "Beautiful killer," he murmured into Raziel's mouth, and settled him back, into the soft furs.

Caught in the lassitude that followed his climax, memory merged with reality in the sound of Kain's voice, the familiar approval. Something in it warmed something inside Raziel—a cold, hard knot of bitter anger and betrayal, one he had lived with for so long that he had forgotten it was there, forged by Kain's rejection of his wings, of his loyalty ... of him.

He wanted to hold the moment tight, hide it away where it could never be fouled by lesser emotions. And then in that same instant, it fled—Raziel brought back to jarring reality by the sudden discomfort of being laid upon his back, one wing pinched uncomfortably between him and the pallet. Disgruntled, he shoved his way upward, capturing Kain's mouth in a hard, possessive kiss, and dragging the younger vampire down to the bed in his place.

"You think I am won so easily?" he said, eyes gleaming with both irritation and a secret amusement. For truly, Kain did not have to win him at all ....

Kain, startled, met the kiss with a clash of fangs and bloodying saliva and then Raziel's mouth was torn away. Faster than he could follow, the other vampire seized him at waist and at throat -- bright cutting pain and vertigo and then his back hit the layered pelts. Kain thrashed, trying to jam a knee up, to throw the other off, opening the half-healed wounds at his shoulder and the nape of his neck. Furious, Kain snarled into Raziel's face.

If anything, this only amused Raziel further. "Did you think to tumble me like some witless barmaid?" he asked rhetorically. One hand remained at Kain's throat, just tight enough to be a warning; the other smoothed down that heaving chest, talons scratching the flawless skin in elaborate exploratory patterns. Skirting the edge of the pectoral, around to the sternum, then even lower, to the rippling muscles of Kain's abdomen ... he had never been able to turn the tables on his sire like this before, and a secret part of him enjoyed it greatly.

"Or do you resist because you are afraid of me—of what I might do?" he murmured, lowering his face until he could breathe upon the marks he had left behind, lap at them and trace their twists and curves with his tongue.

Kain clenched his fists at his sides, the curve of Raziel's talon like a bladed collar around his throat. "You would rather be wooed, perhaps? Brought jewels," and _ah!_ breath over the tracing of light, bleeding scratches, a shudder of pleasure up his spine, "or silks, or fresh kills?"

"Yes, Kain," Raziel said, his words razor-edged silk. "Woo me. Seduce me with your sighs, your moans ... with the taste of your blood and your seed." He suited action to words, biting down around one nipple, letting fangs pierce the darker skin—then releasing it, and licking the blood that welled sluggishly upward with languorous, pleased strokes of his tongue. "Woo me with your pain ... and surrender to me your pleasure." His hand stroked lower, cupping over Kain's still-clothed erection and rubbing slowly over it, the prickle of his talons providing counterpoint to the caress.

Kain growled deeply, concealing a gasp at the maddening press of a palm at his groin, hard pressure even through the armor of his codpiece, and the sweet piercing heat of razored fangs. Raising his right hand to his mouth, he lapped across the pads of his fingers, spreading blood and saliva and the lingering metallic salt of Raziel's semen. He reached for the other's face, stroking along his cheek, trailing the points of his nails. "Your words are a screen, Raziel, for I know -- you want my tongue in your mouth, my hands holding your wrists behind your back. You want my body pushing you back on the furs, pinning you. You want to writhe and fight me and not be able to stop me. Because, Raziel, it will hurt _every time I take you_." And Kain fisted his fingers in Raziel's hair, trying to drag the elder vampire up for a kiss.

With an answering growl, Raziel met that kiss fiercely, tongues duelling and fangs cutting unheeded into lips, mingling their blood together. He *did* want Kain, wanted everything Kain had said in his unknowing arrogance—but he wanted it from *his* Kain—his elder, his sire, the infuriatingly omniscient lord of an empire. Not a fledgling who did not know his own power, and more importantly—did not know *him*.

Impatient, he straddled Kain's hips, drawing talons down the younger vampire's back as they kissed. Bright ribbons of blood smeared his talons and pale skin alike as his hands moved lower, pushing impatiently at the remaining breeches and armor that Kain still wore.

Kain clenched teeth around a high whining hiss as those beautiful, effective, murderous talons reached under him, one catching at the edge of a half-healed wound, and tore channels down his back. Unwilling, he arched up, away from the pain, pressing his blood-smeared chest into Raziel's. Long fangs cut and slashed, both tongues pierced, and Kain swallowed a mouthful of blood -- his own, so familiar; and Raziel's, darker, sweeter, and more intoxicating than the wine.

He could escape, Kain realized, with sudden clarity. Could reshape his flesh into mistform and then... and then what? For Raziel surely commanded such a form as well -- the elder's aura, the ancient puissance, was like a blanket, a force that pressed down and... the greaves of his armor came loose as Raziel slashed through the leather straps along one side. _No!_ Without talons at his throat to threaten him, Kain bucked up, driving his knee hard into Raziel's side, trying to flip the other vampire over.

The knee hit true, and Raziel barely noticed—the armored skin that Kain had so admired earlier was not merely for show, after all, and the muscles beneath it even less likely to give way. Despite Kain's struggles, he managed to strip the greater part of the other vampire's leg-armor away, discarding it onto the floor with a clatter.

Breaking free of the savage kiss—if indeed it could even be called that anymore, Raziel growled and bit fiercely at Kain's throat, ducking his head down so that Kain could not retaliate as sharp fangs scored his neck. Then, easing away, Raziel suckled at the small wound, laving it with his tongue and caressing, soothing the hurts he had made with the palms of his hands. "Your blood ... it reeks of power for one so young," he growled against Kain's flesh. He knew the reason why, of course, but still—the taste of it, the familiarity, was addictive.

The bite at Kain's throat tore a snarl from his lips, but he could not reach any part of Raziel with his teeth, could do little more than snap his fangs uselessly at the air. Those great, long-taloned hands reached under his back again, and Kain tensed, but the palms only smoothed down the slow-healing gouges, bearing in their unhurried strokes a pain-sensitized, enveloping awareness. Blood slicked Raziel's claws, made the fur under Kain's back sticky and clinging. "I think," he slurred, pierced lips and tongue mending, "you're going to need a... new pallet." He clawed at the side of Raziel's face, sharp nails slashing. But the enervation of progressive bloodloss was beginning to build.

Raziel caught at the clawing hand, pinning it to the furs easily as he rose up again, pushing Kain backwards. "So powerful ... and yet so fragile," he mused, his eyes on the grayish tinge gracing Kain's already-pale skin, knowing what it meant. Pride would not let him apologize ... but that did not mean he could not alter his stratagem somewhat.

"It would not be the first set of furs I have had to replace," he said finally, watching Kain's angry face. He paused a moment more; then in a sudden swift motion, brought his wrist to his mouth and tore it open with his fangs. He proffered it to Kain. "....is it so difficult to trust yourself to me?"

_"What?"_ Kain gasped. Raziel's observation -- Kain's comparative fragility, combined with the earlier promises of pain -- had seemed to him a dire portent indeed, and only pride had kept Kain from bracing for a blow. But instead Raziel withdrew, settled back, and offered his split wrist. Thick purple-black welled and dripped like ink.

"Trust you?" Kain growled, surging up on his elbows. The folly of trust had left Kain thusly cursed, had led him to dance upon the strings of one manipulator after another. The closest Kain came to trust anymore was his faith in himself and in the Reaver. Trust Raziel, if there were any other options? Kain would have to be a fool. He opened his mouth to snarl _'why?'_.

And then... paused. Kain *knew* he could not -- should not -- trust the enormously powerful elder, not to any degree. And yet.... He didn't even have a name for the feeling, the tightness that clenched in his chest. His jaws clicked shut.

"What do..." Kain started thickly, taking Raziel's wrist in one hand. Still deeply suspicious of some trap, he bent his head to the bared flesh, lapping. The blood was as thick as heavy cream, far sweeter, shot through with power like a gathering build of electricity, like the moment before lightning. The wound itself had closed nearly the moment Raziel had made it. Kain sought out the coursings of blood beneath the skin with the tip of his tongue first, determined not to simply tear into the elder like some uncontrolled beast. "...What do you have in mind?" Kain said more evenly, more reasonably, and bit, forcing his canines through the thick, armored skin.

And promptly lost all sense of evenness or reason. He'd thought Raziel's blood incredibly potent, but that was when he'd tasted only a few drops at a time. This was like biting into the core of a tempest, and Kain was wholly lost. Pretensions of urbanity disintegrated, and Kain gasped around the thick fluid, driving his fangs deeper.

Raziel stiffened as Kain bit down, but stopped the reflexive strike before it began. The pain was brief, hardly worth noticing compared to the feel of Kain feeding from him, pulling the blood from his veins in strong, hungry pulls, almost savage in his need. It had been so long—he had forgotten what it was like to feed a fledgling like this, how easily they succumbed to hunger and the power of an elder's blood. Memories darkened his eyes as he looked at the down-turned silver head, and remembered others ... and himself, helpless in his need before Kain, their roles reversed.

"You need not fear me ... not any more, Kain," he said quietly. "I remember my oaths."

The long gouges and channels that striped Kain's back, neck, and shoulders pulled together, perfect new skin crawling over the seams, pulses of healing following each swallow in rhythm. Kain sat up, slowly, fingers clasped hard into Raziel's forearm. His other hand reached for Raziel's waist, wrapping around so that he clenched his fist at the small of the other vampire's back, trying to drag Raziel to him, perhaps trying to pull himself closer to Raziel; Kain wasn't sure and it really didn't matter.

He heard Raziel say something, dimly, as though a waterfall was thundering between them. Something in the words, the tone, seemed... important. Backing off from the font of sweetness at Raziel's wrist was... perhaps the most difficult undertaking of Kain's existence. He had to rock his fangs to free them -- the moment he stopped drawing so strongly on the other vampire's wrist, the narrow wounds began to close, sealing around his teeth.

Raziel had fed well, and could afford the loss—still, he could feel the first stirrings of his own Hunger as Kain drank deep. He refused to give in to it, however, and kept his arm outstretched until he was certain Kain was done. By the time the younger vampire had released his bite completely, the wound had sealed over, vanishing without a trace.

Moving slowly, in an attempt to avoid pricking Kain's pride once more, Raziel cupped the side of the younger vampire's neck with his palm, drawing him closer, close enough to seal his mouth upon Kain's and taste his own blood upon those lips. "Sweeter than the nectars of heaven," Raziel murmured against that stubborn mouth—and he did not mean the familiar taste of his own blood.

Dazed, it took Kain a moment to grasp his surroundings once more, to make sense of the press of lips against his, the brush of blade-edged talons curled around the side of his neck. He caught the last few of Raziel's words clearly, and they were perfectly true. "Yes," he purred into Raziel's mouth, speaking in the moments between exploration, between the thick pulse and glide of tongue against fang, "Yes, you are."

Kain released Raziel's wrist in favor of his hip, the perfect smooth skin, the harder subdermal armor and muscle beneath. He clasped the other close against his body as he rose up, tucking under first one leg, then the other, resettling himself so that he knelt back on his heels amidst the furs, Raziel straddled over his hips.

Raziel groaned low in his throat, and pressed tighter, rolling his hips against the hard surface of Kain's own. He needed no further reminders of this fledgling's fragile flesh—he skimmed hands down shoulders, back, using only the calloused palms and finger-pads, talons kept carefully away from healed skin as he touched and tasted.

Breaking the kiss, Raziel lapped at Kain's throat, scraping teeth along the pale flesh, a hairs-breadth from piercing it. Nudging at the softer underside of the younger vampire's jaw, Raziel murmured dryly, "Are you planning on keeping your breeches in order to preserve your virtue? I assure you, there is nothing underneath them that I have not seen before."

Ever had politics, war, and sex been entwined, and Kain had grown quite competent with all three. "Virtue?" he said, and couldn't contain a short, soft exclamation, almost a laugh, laced with a certain delight. Yarbareh was watered wine compared with Raziel's potently intoxicating blood.

Kain thrummed deeply at the scrape of fang against his throat, the murmur of sound against his flesh, couldn't help lifting his chin for it. He arched his own body into Raziel's careful touches, inflicting upon himself narrow, delicate cuts, enjoying the hot edge of sensation and the aching pull as they healed.

More serious now, Kain sought the place at the base of Raziel's spine, the spot that had so undone Kain, and experimentally dug his knuckles in just there, rolling them across the velvet skin in a firm caress. "So beautiful, just like this, Raziel. Sublime, open...." Stroking, scratching, he curled his nails along Raziel's hips, the cleft of his ass, fingertips just finding the tight opening, "...and wanting it." He rolled his leather-clad hips upward and, withdrawing his fingers, reached between their bodies, careful of the sharp edges of his nails, finding Raziel's thick erection pressed against the laces of his own breeches. Kain encircled the cock, passing the pad of his thumb hard over the tip, then released. He reached for the laces, cutting them apart, rocking the back of his hand against Raziel's hard flesh.

Raziel arched into the touches with a soft, pleased indrawn gasp, Kain's careful, knowing touch threatening to undo him once again. The touch on his back was also pleasurable, sending slow warmth through his cool flesh, even if Raziel was not quite as responsive there as Kain was. His weaknesses lay higher, at the bony joint where his wings attached. But then, neither elder nor younger Kain had chanced to learn that, had they?

"I do not think I am the only one here who is wanting this ..." Raziel said dryly. With the waistline of Kain's breeches loosened, Raziel could slide his palms lower, and fill his hands with the firm muscles that had lain so temptingly underneath the leather. Nipping at the hollow of one collarbone, Raziel flexed his fingers into taut, yielding flesh with the greatest of pleasure, letting his talons prickle the skin at the end of each slow squeeze, and rocking upward as he did so. The haphazard touches of Kain's hand were maddening, and Raziel wanted more.

Kain hissed in pleasure at the grip against his ass, rising into the wondrously sharp-edged caresses. Slitting leather, Kain at last freed his cock from the tight confines of his breeches, and pressed himself against Raziel, stroking up along the two lengths. "Do you feel it, Raziel? Is this what you wanted? This is going in you," Kain murmured hot against Raziel's cheek, nipping at the corner of his jaw, the lobe of his ear. "You can't stop me." Kain swirled the pad of his thumb in the wetness at the tips of both erections, until the pleasure bordered on pain. "I can take you now, Raziel. I think I will."

Rocking his hips in slow undulation, Kain drew his hand from between their bodies. As short as he kept his nails... they were still just too long, too sharp, for what he had in mind. Keeping Raziel close with a fist at the small of his back, he reached out to the side and breathed the words to open a dimensional pocket. He retrieved a gauntlet.

Raziel growled under his breath, and there was equal parts pleasure and annoyance in the sound. Turning his head, he fastened teeth on the side of Kain's neck, fangs piercing just deep enough to be a warning.

Releasing the bite, he growled, "*Can't* stop you? Perhaps you had best bend your efforts towards making sure I do not *want* to stop you—else you may find your proud words sorely bruised." He rocked upward sharply, rubbing his cock against the hot, silken flesh of Kain's erection. "Do not mistake my forbearance for weakness."

Kain growled deeply, tempted to rise to the challenge, but -- if Kain were to be perfectly honest with himself -- Raziel was correct, after all. And the distraction of Raziel's skin, his beauty... Kain backed down, his tone modulating, becoming compliant, preoccupied. He flexed the fingers of his right hand into the gauntlet, tugging it firm, covering the tips of his sharp nails. Kain brought his armored fingers to the fresh bite, pressing into the wounds, gathering spilled blood. "Were you human once, Raziel?…" Kain breathed, touching cool metal-sheathed fingertips to the other's thigh, then reaching between for the firmness of Raziel's cock, fine chain mail edges and small linked plates lingering at the head, the delicate slit, swabbing precome across his armored fingertips.

"Weren't ... unh ... we all?" Raziel managed to retort. He pressed up into that gauntleted hand, heedless of the way cold metal and fine-woven mail bit into his flesh. He canted his hips wantonly, rubbing first against cold metal and hot flesh, then back again, shifting his knees wider in blatant invitation. Foreplay was well and good, but Raziel was no fragile human—he wanted Kain in him, in all ways, and damn the consequences.

Kain withdrew his hand as Raziel rocked up into it, sought around the muscular angles of his ass again, and with the sole warning of a single ghosting brush against the opening, sank in two fingers, barely slicked. "Resplendent, Raziel." Kain growled, pressing their bodies together hard, erections trapped between the planes of two solid stomachs. He spoke between small, biting kisses, all up Raziel's throat. "Feeling it. Spread for it. Taking it...." His armored fingers scissored, stretching, and Kain relaxed his pressure on the small of Raziel's back, trusting the other to maintain his grip. Kain's unarmored hand reached down, past the constant motion of his gauntlet, until he could stroke the soft skin of Raziel's testicles.

A small cry escaped Raziel, and he threw his head back, face drawn in lines of agonized pleasure. The unyielding metal of the gauntlet hurt as it shoved its way inside, chill linked metal tearing delicate flesh even as it forced it open. The skin healed almost as fast as it was torn, however, the tiny wounds opening just enough to perfume the air with Raziel's blood and no more. In their wake they left cold metal inside him, and warmer fingers around him, sending thrills of electric pleasure to every nerve as they cupped his most fragile flesh.

He bucked backward into the intrusion, welcoming the impalement and the pain, knowing what lay beyond it. Taloned hands slid restlessly down Kain's back, his sides—Raziel still caressing with his palms, though his control was not as complete as it had been, not with such distractions. "Yess ..." he groaned, then bit back other betraying words.

"Ah, Raziel!" Kain gasped, arching into the sweep of Raziel's talons, shuddering, caught and held on the flashpoint between agony and ecstasy. He slipped his fingers deeper, seeking the harder node of tissue inside. Sensation was greatly muted by the smooth ridges and plates of the armored gauntlet, but -- ah, just there. He stroked, pressed, added another finger. "Just enough to get it into you," Kain murmured into the delicate curve of Raziel's ear. "I'm going to break you open. I want you to feel it when it happens."

And then that buck and press of hips was too much, too intense -- he wanted to hold Raziel open, make him scream, -- but the pressure, the heat at his fingertips, the friction as the other vampire writhed upwards -- _Gods_. Kain pulled his armored fingers free and released Raziel's soft sac with one last stroke. He clenched his hands, one encased in wet and smooth-edged metal, one tipped with sharp nails, into Raziel's hips. And positioned the head of his erection against the little opening.

A shudder rippled down the length of his body with those words, with the insistent press of the broad head of Kain's cock nudging hungrily at his ass. Raziel ached from the withdrawal of those fingers, leaving him open and empty, and rubbed himself hard against Kain, like a giant feline, feeling their cocks slip and rub between their stomachs, precome slickening their skin.

"Yes ... give that to me," Raziel breathed, a thready impatient growl underneath the words. "Tear me open, if needs be, but give me all of you. Come so far inside of me that I cannot taste or feel anything but you ..." Talon-tips bit into pale skin as he shifted and pushed himself downward, onto Kain's waiting cock, shuddering again as it pushed against him, breaching already-stretched muscles.

"Shh, yes, just like this," Kain whispered, more to keep himself from crying out than for any attempt at dominance. The stretch around the head of him was so damned tight, so perfectly gripping. He could not wait for Raziel to become comfortable, could only rise up, pushing Raziel down upon him, taking possession in one slow, aching, endless invasion, holding him stretched and pinioned.

Kain kissed Raziel hard, a clash of teeth and fangs, narrow little scrapes and tears, and then pulled back to kiss again, so lightly, just a touch against bloodied lips. Meeting Raziel's eyes -- so hot, molten as gold -- Kain withdrew until the head of his erection was just inside, and then thrust again, a deep rolling shove to the base.

Yes, that was what he wanted, what he had been waiting for—feeling that full length inside him, familiar yet strange, the relentless shove upward even as his muscles spasmed in reaction, rippling around the iron-hard cock that split him open. Raziel rocked, meeting Kain's kiss with equal ferocity, tongue dipping in to taste, heedless of fangs that cut them both. His thighs were crushingly tight on the outside of Kain's hips, and he rode the younger vampire with an almost desperate air.

_Tomorrow this Kain might be gone as well ... who knows what time is left?_ The thought was fleeting, but it made his grip tighten with sudden need, made him sink down into that lovely long thrust, drinking in every sensation as Kain's cock speared into him. "...mine," he growled, no longer able to help himself. "Damn the Powers and all would-be gods ... Mine!"

Belong to any creature? Never! Kain roared, surged up, thrusting and recoiling and driving Raziel down hard on him again, shuddering hard, flooded under by white hot sensation. The rhythm of resistance -- "So tight!" -- reigned him as he thrust and entered, ravaging, imperious, driving flesh and soul upwards, and bit down. Into Raziel's shoulder, his collar bone, the base of his throat, Kain's long vulpine fangs lancing his own tongue in his frenzy, blood and power in his mouth, stabbing wounds that barely seeped before they closed. Pain -- the grip at his hips raised bone-deep bruises under his skin, claws tore his back, -- overridden with arcing pleasure and that feel, that black incandescence, the crystallized essence of eons, the reverberative descant of consanguinity. Kain snarled, ordered, "Give it to me. I want you _mine_." and closed his hand around Raziel's erection.

Raziel met him thrust for thrust, bucking downward just as savagely, hungrily. He was growling almost continuously, low in his throat, his hands spasming on every upward thrust, every bite. Blood had spattered liberally over them both, in what would seem to a human a grotesque display. To vampires, however ... it was a siren song, awakening another kind of Hunger and need, the bloodscent driving their senses to a fever pitch.

Hands raked over Kain's back, his hips, and Raziel lost sense of where he was, knowing only the hard flesh that drove into him, the teeth that pierced him. Then Kain's grasped his neglected cock—and that additional agonizing pleasure caused every muscle in his body to *clench* as he rode the sensation right up to the knife's edge, and stayed there .... Without thought or premeditation, Raziel bit down, fangs driving deep into Kain's flesh as he shuddered on the verge.

_Take it, take it, take it_ and _so beautiful_ but all words were lost to the clench of Raziel around him, his tongue no longer capable, consciousness absorbed in the blasted pure space of agony and rapture. With only one hand at Raziel's hip, the pads of his other fingers in the slickness all down Raziel's cock, Kain could not pull the other vampire against him, could only grind himself up. The great muscles in Kain's thighs stretched with tension against the pressure, jerked, his whole body shuddering with effort. Then Raziel bit into the side of his throat, and Kain was torn under by the tide of pleasure -- a hell of ecstasy.

Quaking with the bliss, Kain sunk fangs into Raziel's shoulder once more. And came.

For a moment, Raziel felt as if he hung suspended upon a precipice, struck deaf and dumb by the sensations coursing through him. It was an empty white space, devoid of all thought, and he knew only that sooner or later he would fall ....

And then Kain's climax hit him like a lightning bolt. He could *feel* Kain, as he had as a fledgling, knowing the needs of his sire, the changes in temper like thunderclouds building upon the horizon. Only this—this was pure pleasure, shared between minds as much as bodies, the agonizing sensation passed back and forth until Raziel could no longer tell the difference. Kain's seed spilling in him, a body clasped tight around an aching cock, no, his erect flesh, held in a calloused grip, his fangs piercing flesh and being pierced in turn ....

With a hoarse cry, Raziel fell over the edge, blasted and senseless, every nerve quivering. Wings flared in the wake of his shout as he spasmed once more, around the hardness within him, bucking into Kain's grip and spilling his seed helplessly over their entwined bodies.

Kain did not feel himself fall backwards, limp and stunned. He could not remember wrapping his arms around the small of Raziel's back, dragging the other with him, so that the perfect weight of him settled down across Kain's chest.

He thought he might have drifted for a time -- just consumed under shuddering waves, nothing but raw pleasure that swamped his attenuated mind in honey gold -- it might have been moments or years.

Kain felt... carbonated. Sintered. Reft.

Physical awareness returned one tenuous thread at a time -- the ache of strained muscles, the itch as wounds slowly sealed, the stretch across his hips and thighs brought about by the mildly uncomfortable position. The pressure against his fangs where Raziel's flesh had closed around them. Something cold under his shoulder.

With a muffled thrum, Kain withdrew his fangs, licked across the fading marks where he'd bit. The wounds sealed the moment the points of his eyeteeth left the skin, but Kain laved at the place anyway, cleaning away the remaining stain. Movement was laborious, even the smallest motion taking concentration, but Kain managed to retrieve the cold object. His gauntlet. So that was where it had gone. Kain couldn't recall when he'd lost it. He dropped it back to the blood-spattered furs.

Raziel had been in no position to resist Kain's insistent grip. Still straddling the younger vampire's hips, he had fallen forward, draped over Kain's chest and feeling very much like a wrung out rag—albeit a very satiated rag after an incredibly pleasurable wringing. He had not even mustered the energy to fold his wings again properly. One was folded well enough at his back, between the wall and their bodies, but the other lay half-furled, dangling over the edge of the pallet like a makeshift blanket.

Kain's little movements did not spur Raziel out of his lethargy. With heavy-lidded eyes, he lay where he was, welcoming the lethargy that made his limbs leaden and filled his thoughts with a pleasurable fog.

Raziel seemed, to Kain's largely-incoherent mind, like one of the creatures reverenced in pious effigy, winged and white, splayed out across Kain's chest, so that his silken hair brushed the side of Kain's face. Perfect. Bloodspattered. Kain thought, bleary and unutterably comfortable, that he should... do something. About that. He had already cleaned away the evidence of his last bite, but there was another broad smear of dark purple-red in the curve of Raziel's neck, and Kain languidly started on that one, too.

Strange. Kain had never heard this sound, this contented deep rumble, rising from someplace in his chest. He'd not imagined he could even produce such a tone.

To his left, Kain couldn't reach more than Raziel's shoulder and the nape of his neck without moving, which, he decided, would involve far too much effort. To Kain's right stretched more shoulder, which he also cleaned -- just passes of his tongue, an occasional slight scrape of fang, lethargic -- and then the extended surface of a wing. Kain lapped at that, too.

Raziel had stretched a little, enjoying the soft, wet touches—then stiffened as Kain licked at his unfolded wing. A vivid, sensory memory of Kain's teeth piercing his flesh flashed across his memory, along with what such fangs could do to his wings—and without thought he had yanked the wing back, arching it up and away from the perceived threat.

The surface of the membrane was velvety, fascinating in texture, and then wrenched away. Annoyance flitted across the warm, fog-shrouded surface of Kain's mind, and, freeing his right hand from an entanglement of furs, he reached for the lifted wing, trying to gather it back.

With a strangled gasp, Raziel reared up backwards, both wings arched high to avoid Kain's grasping fingers. The memory of Kain's careful touch upon his wings—followed by blinding, excruciating pain .... It still had the power to make him shudder with a icy cold that bored down to his bones.

Belatedly, Raziel realized what he had done.  Tamping down his fear, he folded his wings tightly along his back as if that was what he had intended all along.   
    
Kain growled a little as Raziel surged up off him. Not that there was a great deal of rancor in it; as a man, Kain had never permitted lovers in his bed much after the deed, unless so compelled by political necessity -- the possibilities for a dagger between the ribs were simply too rampant. Kain undoubtedly would have done the same in Raziel's position.

Blood was dappled and spattered everywhere -- Kain suspected that he probably looked as if he'd been murdered several times over, and messily at that. The scent of so much blood, even beginning to dry, was too thick, too alluring, to pick up more than Raziel's obvious discomfort.

Still... a very obvious discomfort that was indeed. It was possible that Raziel did not favor having his wings handled -- perhaps a wise consideration, if the membranes really were as soft and fragile as they'd seemed in that brief moment of touch. Kain's eyes narrowed a little as he sat up, gathering his still-lax limbs, ensuring that everything was still in working order. Were Raziel's wings an exploitable weakness? And if so... why? 

Kain swung his legs over the edge of the pallet and stood, then wiped ineffectually at the gore that coated his skin, finding masses of half-healed cuts and deep bruises... and let his fingers linger there, over the ache and itch as they slowly healed. "That was..." he started, turning to look at the other vampire, who still crouched, wings very tightly folded. And Kain found he could say nothing at all -- the proud lift of his Raziel's head, of his carriage; his power; his body more finely sculpted than any mortal's, changed and molded over centuries into a thing far more divine -- Raziel was categorically sublime. And the pleasure to be wrung from that perfection, that living, bloodspattered angel, was like none Kain had ever experienced, so intense and consuming he'd not dreamed it possible. Kain wanted -- and oh, how he wanted, as strongly as hunger or vengeance had ever driven him -- to own Raziel, to conquer him, to have him by his side and in his bed. He wanted to use Raziel in the salvation of himself and his world. And... he wanted to see Raziel free.

Damnation.

"I will seek more information regarding the CDC, as well as means by which to infiltrate or lay siege to the same," Kain said, looking to his greaves, scattered on the floor. He crouched to pick them up, dismissed them, and then stood, pulling his breeches back together. Enough remained of the broken lacings to tie them closed, if only barely. "I also intend to seek the library for books treating upon the Powers, and for that, I..." Kain grit his teeth, for the necessity of asking nettled. But, though Kain had found the lower library, the monsters within had proved... unexpectedly challenging. To put it mildly. "I would have your assistance."

Shifting until he sat upon the edge of the pallet, Raziel did not heed his nudity, nor his blood- and semen-spattered state. Instead he pulled his customary arrogance and reserve around him like a cloak, dimly thankful that Kain did not seem to have noticed his flinch—or that if he had, did not intend to comment upon it.

"I do make regular expeditions to the Library. Joining forces will likely speed the process; I also can make you acquainted with the few tomes I have found thus far that give insight into the nature of this world and some of our fellow Chosen. Information on the Powers has proven harder to find ... but I have had some small successes in that as well." He watched Kain collect his armor and clothing, his face a mask of reserved calm. "The areas in which such tomes are kept are very well guarded indeed, and I would welcome someone at my back. How do you prefer I contact you, when the time comes?"

Kain nodded. "I was 'given' an office, with an outdoor rooftop area large enough for landing. I visit there several times a week," though not often during 'business hours.' Placeholders always wanted him to sign documents at such times. Rather, the office was large enough for him to store and examine some of the stranger objects this dimension contained. Kain described the height and location of the building, mentioning its distinctive roof and the blue-glassed front. "A missive may be left there, and I will receive it within days."

Kain paused, then took a step and crouched a little, reaching to cup the side of Raziel's jaw, seeking a kiss. "I would have you again," he rumbled, knowing it might very well be a mistake to let the other vampire know how... very, very much Kain had enjoyed Raziel, and yet unable to completely conceal his admiration.

Raziel made no move to fend Kain away, but instead lifted his face for a brief, fierce kiss. Once it was broken, he murmured, "The one thing we have been granted here is time ... and I do not think this will be our last meeting." Truth underlaid by more truth. Looking up into that pale, too-young face, determined and proud, Raziel knew he could not stay away. Even knowing what was to come, what manner of weapon the younger vampire bore—he was still drawn like a moth to a flame, and no doubt to the same manner of ending.

 As he left, Kain noted, with a very slight, wry upturn at the corner of his mouth, that his gauntlet still lay half-tangled in the furs.  He rather liked the symbolism.


End file.
